


Survivors

by Strega7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strega7/pseuds/Strega7
Summary: After the war.  Severus survived.  He has a run in with a Hermione who has been dealing with more than he had imagined.  Both are surprised by with they experience.  Both are curious as to when happens after that.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 401





	1. Survivors

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters- wish they were. Thanks JKR for this fabulous world.

It was Christmas. Two and a half years after the battle of Hogwarts and the end of the war. The Order had reconvened during the holidays for reunion and recovery and to touch base on strategic plans going forward. It had been a long two and a half years. Grimwauld place still held onto some of its ancient gloom, but Harry and Ginny had managed to lighten much of it as their new home. They lived here now, and had offered the old headquarters for this holiday event. To Severus it stank too much of the old days; his visits here had been unpleasant from their start. Even though he was now acclaimed as a hero of the war —after his survival from Nagini’s bite and the revelation of his work as a double agent —he still disliked the cheerfulness and optimistic attitude that pervaded The Order. As if they had just been able to flip a switch and get back to life as normal, _more_ _grateful_ than ever before for what they had. He scoffed. He was _grateful_ he didn’t have to see them more than once a year. 

Severus had been living a solitary life, traveling, doing research, reading, and generally being his usual antisocial self. He was much more content that way. Some days he didn’t know what to do with himself as he looked into the yawning expanse of a future adrift. But most days he simply shoved aside that encroaching despair, really any feeling whatsoever, and just worked to keep the discipline of a simple life. One day at a time, one task at a time. That was how you got through. That was how he’d survived for this long, so it seemed as good a strategy as any to keep moving forward. 

He swirled the firewhiskey in his crystal glass as he made his way up the stairs. The sounds of cheer and laughter drifted up to him, and while he was expected to be here, he would still rather… not be. Perhaps he could browse the library and be left alone til the evening drew to a close. Already he’d had to endure too much small talk. 

He had wandered into the old library, a fire burning dimly in the fireplace, before he realized suddenly that he was not alone. There was a shape on the floor by the fire, wracked by stilted, jerking movement. At first it looked like someone was having a seizure, or that something was very wrong as the shape shuddered, it’s shoulders shaking in the low light, and he rushed forward to help. She was shaking violently with silent sobs, seemingly totally unaware of her surroundings, and before he knew what he was doing, he had knelt on the ground and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her, soothing her with soft shushing sounds. He had on occasion done this for younger students in his house, when they had been dealing with extreme circumstances. It was the only time he had ever let his strict teacher facade crack, and any student who witnessed this side of him knew better than to ever speak of it again. He doubted any but those very few would have guessed this side of their intimidating head of house. And certainly no one from other houses. 

He could tell this was some kind of episode, whether it was panic attack, waking nightmare or flashback - or maybe some combination of the three, he had seen it in the years since the war.  _ Or before _ , he thought bitterly. 

She was currently somewhere far away, trapped in another time and place. He himself had had these experiences-- waking in the night and struggling with old demons until the moment passed and his panic and powerlessness and grief and fear faded. It felt like being  _ trapped _ in a nightmare, and he could see that Hermione was in the throes of such an episode now. She hadn’t been making any sound, just the broken breathing and mouthed sobs. It happened this way sometimes. Like screaming for someone to help you in a dream with no sound able to come out. Sometimes the screaming was better. 

He sat and pulled her closer to him, drawing her body against his chest as he rocked her, willing her to come out of the nightmare. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, holding this Hermione Granger he’d never seen before. His mind wandered. He never would have guessed that she struggled at all— not by the serene mask she wore before the world, nor even by the way she interacted with the other Order members.  _ She had seemed fine _ , he thought. She had laughed and smiled only this evening --he almost snorted at himself. But she was clever and older than her years-- yes, of course she had put on a face that said she was fine. He would have in her position as well. But they  _ weren’t _ fine. Maybe no one was? 

But that wasn’t true, he decided. No, the others really did seem to be doing better. If not “fine,” at least moving forward with life. Like they’d buried their demons and soldiered onwards. But clearly not Hermione. And he could only assume that meant she hadn’t been willing or able to show that side to the others. But her masquerade had been superb. She’d always been too clever by half. At one time he’d almost wondered if she should have been Sorted Slytherin. But, he mused, it was more likely due to her Gryffindor side that meant she didn’t want to burden her friends. But she’d obviously hid it too well. 

He could feel her slowly coming back to herself. Her shoulders had stopped shaking, and her breathing was beginning to even out, even if she was still taking deep trembling breaths. For a moment he could feel that she was returning to this room, but she seemed to burrow more deeply into his arms. And then he felt her body stiffen. Like she had finally realized that a stranger was holding her. He spoke quickly, hoping not to upset or frighten her further. 

“Hermione,” he said in a detached calm voice, “I apologize. I meant no offence; you were distressed and I only sought to help calm you until it passed.” For a moment he felt her stiffen again as she pinpointed the voice, but after a moment she relaxed into him again. 

“Thank you.” She said in a quiet voice. It sounded so unlike the Hermione Granger that he’d observed over the years. Old, exhausted, resigned. Maybe even a tad bitter? They remained there, and he had to master the surprise that had filled him when- upon hearing his voice, she had remained where she was. In his mind he had assumed she would immediately scramble up, disgusted and or disturbed, ready to put as much distance between them as possible. 

Once again, time seemed to slip by. His mind was starting to become distracted by the fact that she had not yet moved, but instead simply remained limp and warm against him there in the darkened room. It was an odd feeling. He had only meant to pull her through the crisis, but it was beginning to feel like something else entirely. Comfortable. ...Nice? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply held someone. That someone had  _ let _ him. 

And it wasn’t just  _ someone _ , it was… he began to realize with apprehension, very much  _ a woman _ . She was a veteran of war, a fighter, a brilliant mind, a leader in their world -so far from being the girl he had once known. He was holding a soft  _ woman’s _ body practically in his lap,  _ and she was letting him _ . 

...And then, he could feel the shift in the air around them. Suddenly he was aware of the rise and fall of each of his breaths -and hers, with her chest so close against his. He could feel her cheek pressed against his collarbone, the warmth of her breath dampening the fabric of his shirt. He could hear his heart hammering in this chest. His fingers became aware of the soft feel of her shirt beneath them, supple feel of the flesh beneath that. His shallow inhales carried to his nostrils her light scent, clean, fragrant, and so… feminine. 

And then she seemed to go very, very still, like she too had become aware of the intimacy of their bodies, that she was a woman, and he was a man, and he wondered if he should now detach himself and move away from her before he upset her further. 

What he  _ didn’t _ expect, was that her tightly clenched fist -that just a moment ago had been balled against his chest- would suddenly and slowly uncurl, fingers minutely stretching out to tentatively touch the fabric before them. The fabric that was his shirt, over his chest, where he seemed to have stopped breathing. His mouth went dry. He could feel every plane of their bodies where they touched, hyper-aware of every sensation of her softness and warmth pressed against him. He didn’t dare move. He wasn’t sure what was happening, so he wasn’t sure how he should deflect or defend or deny. 

He couldn’t see her face, as her gold-brown curls obscured it where it remained tucked against his chest, and he wished he could. He wanted to understand what was happening in this strange moment. But her fingers were still moving, slowly against his shirt, featherlight in their touch, grazing the fabric so softly it almost tickled. The air between them had definitely shifted. There was something of an edge to it, a different feel -like an electrical charge in the air before a summer storm. He barely dared to breathe. He felt her swallow, and he could feel her heartbeat, racing like a hummingbird. She shifted, ever so slightly, and he almost groaned out loud, as it reminded the rest of his body what it was touching. Her fingers that had been softly roving on his chest seemed to bolden. She glided them slowly up, over his collar bone, over the muscles of his shoulder and to the base of his neck, fingers gently plunging into the hair at his nape. The touch was so intimate it sent a shockwave through his body, from skull to groin. Something tightened there and he could feel a hardness beginning to solidify. He  _ almost _ leaned into her touch,  _ almost _ closed his eyes and moaned with the softness of her hand, the sweetness of it. It seemed to unlock a wave of hunger in him to  _ feel _ more of her, to  _ have _ more. His breathing hitched. He still didn’t move. He didn’t dare. 

But with her hand on his neck, he could feel her head drawing upwards, her face coming into his line of sight as it lifted. Her thumb gently traced the base of his jaw. And then, he could see her eyes. Black met brown. He watched her, keeping his face carefully neutral, still not sure what kind of ploy this might be. 

And suddenly, she moved faster than he would have expected as she darted up and captured his lips as he froze in surprise. But she didn’t stop there. Instead of waiting to see how he responded she plundered forward, grasping his lips in hers, roving over and between them with her tongue, engulfing him with a wave of raw want and will and desire. This time he did groan into her mouth, the sound low and ragged. She made a sound back, almost a cry, but she seemed to press herself harder against him, bringing up her other arm to encircle him, pulling him closer to her heaving chest. 

He wanted to stop, he wanted to pull her back and look in her eyes to see if this was some kind of sick joke or cruel farse. He wanted to be cautious and careful like he had trained himself to be in unexpected circumstances, but he just couldn’t seem to tear himself away. His want for this soft edged, sweet smelling body pressed against him drove all other thought from his mind. She felt so good in his hands, soft and smooth and warm and willing.  _ Fuck, he had been alone for too long. And this shouldn’t be happening _ . But she didn’t give him time to think more about it. She was devouring him like a starved soul, her lips kissing and tugging and teeth and tongue consuming him. And he was devouring her back. 

Their bodies tangled, arms and hands holding and exploring, she was straddling him, his hardness pressed directly into her core, the fabrics of their clothing a flimsy barrier between them. She let out a half choked sob as he ground himself against her, her hands were tangled in his black hair. Her lips had found his neck and ear, the feel of her breath and gasps against the sensitive places on his ear had him shuddering, which led to more gasps as it pressed him harder against her. His hands roved roughly up her back entwining in her hair, then back down and around her ass, gripping her and pulling her more tightly to him. Their tongues found each other again and warred and tangled and tasted, their lips soft but swollen as they crushed together again and again. 

A noise on the landing below and the sound of voices getting louder made them suddenly freeze. They locked eyes with each other for a moment before swiftly breaking apart as they straightened their clothes, their hair, their faces. Severus stood, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace and managed to school his features within seconds, while Hermione still fumbled with her hair and did a quick spell to freshen her makeup but still appeared shaken. She sat in the chair facing the fire -away from the door. 

Molly popped her head around the library door and glanced into the room, clearly expecting the room to be empty. 

“Oh, Severus,” I didn’t realize you were in here. Her eyes then landed on Hermione and worry flitted across her features. “And Hermione, dear! I didn’t see you there.” Having collected herself, Hermione flashed Molly a warm self-assured smile. 

“Hey, Molly! Well, you know I can’t help but pester a Master in the field about the latest breakthroughs in Potions.” Molly looked relieved and visibly relaxed. Hermione turned to Severus, once again that wise, serene persona he’d seen from afar. 

“Thank you, truly, for indulging some of my questions and your offer of help. It means a lot to me.” She said it solemnly, their eyes meeting and for a moment he thought that hers looked as old as his. Though his face was still unreadable, he let something show through in his eyes, as he bowed his head to her. 

“The party is starting to break up, dear, and we just wanted to say our goodbyes to everyone. Will you come and say your farewells?” Molly queried. Hermione hesitated just long enough for Severus to think she was actually reluctant to leave him, but eventually she turned and headed towards the door. 

“Of course!” She said brightly, offering Molly a cheerful smile. Just as Hermione reached the doorway though, she turned back to him, again, hesitation written on her face. “Would it be ok for me to follow up with some questions about what you mentioned tonight?” Severus went utterly still. Molly had continued ahead down the hallway towards the stairs again, but he wasn’t sure exactly what this young witch was asking of him. Or how he should respond. 

“You may…” he intoned, no hint of emotion or meaning hidden in them. Just plain, indifferent words. But, then, he’d always been good at wearing the masks. At playing a role. At least until tonight… He was starting to feel anxious again, wondering what he had just done, and how it would end up cutting him in the end. Everything was a blade. It always had an edge and he would indeed get cut if not careful. Her lips pressed in a small sad smile, and she said softly -this time without her mask, 

“Thank you.” Again he nodded and she left without another word, responding in kind to the cheerful shouts and voices calling her name. 


	2. 3 am

Severus was still awake. It was 3 AM and he was lying in bed, tossing and turning, and still very much awake. _Hardly surprising_ , he thought dryly. His mind had been running at full speed, scrutinizing everything that had happened that night from every angle. Replaying it over and over again. _How the fuck did this happen?_ That incredulous asshole voice in his brain seemed to be extra loquacious tonight, and piped up. _She couldn’t have meant to kiss_ you…? _Maybe she was drugged_ . -- _Shut it_ , he thought back angrily. He really wasn’t sure what to think. _But oh gods, it had been good._ He licked his lips and he could still taste the sweetness of her tongue, he inhaled and he could still smell her scent wrapped around him, he could still feel her body in his… involuntarily his balls tightened and he lifted and rolled his hips off the mattress, as if reliving the sensation of grinding against her. He was contemplating if he should restrain himself or get these thoughts _out of his system_ when he was interrupted by the tapping of something at the window. He got up, moving stiffly and slightly awkwardly due to his arousal, and went to the window of his flat. An owl he didn’t recognize swooped in, and settled on the table, extending it’s leg with a small parchment attached. He pulled it off and the owl took off and back out the window into the inky night without hesitation. Severus grumbled under his breath. He unrolled the parchment and looked at the neat handwriting he recognized from years of practice. It had no name either to or from. 

_I don’t know whether I should apologize or thank you for tonight. Or both. It was my doing, but it was definitely_

[...he could tell she had hesitated here, a miniscule ink blot where her pen had paused awhile before she wrote-]

 _unexpected. Also,_ [another long pause] _I would look forward to the possibility of it happening again. If you also don’t sleep much, I would invite you to visit me in my potions lab, where I can be found most nights._

An address was scribbled there, more carelessly than the rest of the note, but that was it. No signature. Nothing else. Not that he’d wanted a love letter or anything (he hadn’t even been expecting a note at all); he mostly had expected her to pretend it had never happened. Though he would have wanted a signature, the spy part of himself found this much cleaner, more efficient… safer. But, there still was a strange part of him that itched to see her name. To read more. To make sure it was her, to know that she had been as affected- as he was beginning to realize he had been. To make sure it still wasn’t some absurd trap or farce meant to humiliate or demean him. 

He tried to reason with those old instincts. He was so far removed from those days, but habits died hard. No one cared who he was anymore. No one hated him. No one sought vengeance. For the most part, since the end of the war, he’d been ignored. Lauded and then ignored. He was awkward, antisocial. No one tried too hard with him, but they also didn’t have hidden agendas either. Everyone was overly invested in their own problems, their own lives -and he did not warrant the retaliation he had once feared. 

Again, something inside of him ached with longing. Groin clenching again as the memory replayed in his head and he was caught off guard again by the recollection of her touch, her feel, her smell, her taste. He willed himself back into control. He thought it wasn’t as if he couldn’t find _pleasurable_ company, if he wanted. Even with his minimal level of fame, there was always someone who wanted a taste ‘of being with a celebrity.’ But he barely indulged. Perhaps only when he’d been blind with need. It had only ever managed to make him feel _more_ lonely, if that were even possible. 

Was it a trap of some kind? He tried to think that through. So far, there was no motive, there was no leverage. He wasn’t sure there was even anything at stake. Again, so hard for old habits to die. So hard not to seek to protect himself at all costs. To survive. Reject her before he could be rejected. Perhaps she wanted retribution for her school days? That seemed childish and petty. It didn’t seem likely of the Granger he’d observed tonight. _Well_ , _looks can be deceiving_ , that voice offered. _Shut the fuck up_ , he thought. He could wait. Observe. He could observe her lab and prepare himself. See if she played games. She would regret it if she did. 

Satisfied with this turn of events and his strategy, he returned to bed. He decided discipline would be best, and refused to indulge in the lust-filled/longing fantasies that danced at the edge of his consciousness. Locking them down, he filed away what had happened that evening and instead decided to go to sleep. His disciplined mind won, and he soon fell into a deep dreamless sleep. 

However, with the early morning his mind fell to the infiltration of his imaginings. The fantasies of soft skin and naked bodies shifting and scraping against the other as his fingers wandered, wondered, and grappled with a beautiful body. His breath caught as he woke, realizing where his mind had finally led him. The undeniable stiffness beneath the sheets, throbbing in his balls and in his member. He growled. He hated when his mind lacked discipline. When he lost control. But he couldn’t stop it then. The image of her, naked, straddling him, thrusting and rocking against his naked body. The way his breath caught at the idea of his cock disappearing into the soft folds of her. Pushing deeply into her. He choked, still trying to control himself. He couldn’t help it. His hand reached down to relieve the unyielding stiffness there, stroking up and down, gently relieving the pressure that had built there. He thrust and pulled, his palm moving over his hardness as he sought some relief from this strange entanglement. He stopped thinking. He only wanted her. Only wanted to be folded into her. Consumed and subsumed into her softness. His heart stalled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had _wanted_ anything. He couldn’t help it. He moved faster and faster. Remembering her taste. He finally burst, and cried out in his climax, shuddering as he eventually came to a standstill. 

Ugh. He hated himself. Why would she even be interested? 

By now, it was night three after that Christmas party, and after two days of denying himself, ignoring the urge to go to her, he was well and ready to go explore and find out if her temptation was indeed a trap or paradise. 

He circled the wards of her lab. He flew above them, he trailed the edges of them on the street and around the building. He could cast a number of spells that sought out any traps or triggers, before entering an area. So he tested them all. She had decent wards. Not that he should be surprised. This was Granger after all. But if he hadn’t been looking for it, he probably would not even have known that she had a lab here. There were anti-muggle charms, invisibility, muffliato (he bristled a little at that), a number of other complex repelling charms he recognized -and a few he didn’t. He didn’t want to trigger whatever traps she might have set for someone snooping around, so he instead took the path that he assumed she had invited him on, and he walked through the old building’s lobby. 

There he felt a few identifying charms as well as intention-seeking charms; his identity was recognized and the wards retreated. He was in shock. She had calibrated the wards to _his_ magical signature? To allow _him_ to enter without additional authorization? That was intensely complicated magic. And it was like giving someone the key to your flat. He was both intrigued, and terrified. Why would she let him in? 

He pulled back the door. The only other option was to retreat, and _that_ he wouldn’t do. Not yet, anyway. Again, he felt the light dancing of wards and spells, as they clearly recognized him- and then ignored him, instead, looking around for more malicious targets. The woman was insane. To allow _him_ unrestricted access? He rolled his eyes and walked up the narrow staircase from the deserted main lobby to the second floor lab, where he guessed he would find her. 

She didn’t seem to notice him when he walked through the doorway. She was engrossed in a brew, and the complexities of it seemed to keep her engaged, even as he would have liked to grab her attention instantaneously. But, he certainly knew- and loved his work in potions enough, that he would not interrupt any kind of experiment or brewing. So he waited. And he watched. 

She was beautiful, he thought. Maybe not in the conventional -show stopper kind of way… but gods she was gorgeous -as she looked between her notes, the bubbling solution, and also tried to smooth her wild hair behind her ears. She was smart, soft and shapely, and there was something in her that had reached for _him_. 

She finally sighed, glancing up at her charmed clock, and at the same time noticing his presence. She started, before giving him a small smile. He kept his features indifferent. She seemed to nod, almost to herself before coming over to him. 

“Can I get you tea, or coffee?” She asked, her voice quiet. She glanced back at the project she’d just left and waved her hand absently, “It needs to steep for a day at this point. And I need a break.” He watched her carefully, but could feel himself relaxing in her calm, serious presence. 

“Tea. Thank you.” She nodded again and led the way to the back wall, where a door flared into existence, and she walked through into a cozy office, with a desk, a sink and kitchenette area off to the side, and a couch and two plush chairs making up a sitting area. She retreated to the kitchen area, pulling out mugs and tapping a kettle with her wand, opening a cupboard in search of tea, he assumed. He took the far end of the couch, settling himself and crossing his ankle over opposite knee. Tonight he’d gone with simple black trousers and black button down shirt, not an uncommon outfit for him. His hair was shorter than it used to be, but still long enough to brush his jaw. Still black curtained over his pale skin. She avoided eye contact as she brought back the two steaming cups. He took the one, and was surprised when she sat down next to him on the couch, much closer than was comfortable, her knee touching his leg as she tucked it under her, facing towards him. He found her assumed intimacy startling, as well as exciting. His leg tingled where it made contact with hers. But his eyes scanned the room for potential dangers while sipping the hot beverage. His face, as always, revealing nothing. 

“Do you get them too?” She asked suddenly, and though he was fairly certain he knew to what she referred, he simply stared back at her, waiting for her to say more. Debating how he wanted to answer. She sighed, exasperated, a throwback sound in his ears. “Do you ever get… flashbacks, nightmares, I don’t know what to call them.” But instead of going on, this time she paused, studied his face and waited for him to respond. He almost smirked. She had always been a quick study.

“Yes.” He said simply. It was more honest than he liked being, especially about something he didn’t like dwelling on let alone sharing, but her episode had stayed with him, and he felt himself oddly concerned. She broke eye contact, looking down at her tea. 

“How…” she started, but couldn’t seem to finish the thought. He studied her, sensing a vulnerability in the word that she usually kept guarded these days. He shrugged. On anyone else it might have seemed unsure, shy even. He stared over at the plush armchair, clearly seeing something else. For a second she didn’t think he would answer. 

“Never stop improving your self defense skills, become deadly. It helps with the hyper-vigilance and helplessness. Keep a disciplined mind. Avoid places that bring back memories, surprises, anything that makes you feel vulnerable or on unsteady ground-” She snorted, interrupting him. Still serious faced, he quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“So,” she said with laughter in her voice, “basically avoid relationships... and people in general.” For the first time his mask broke and he allowed a small wry smile to show. 

“That sounds about right.” He responded dryly. He was pretty sure that was the first time he had ever joked with Hermione Granger. Of course joking wasn’t the only first he’d had with Granger recently. He shifted slightly. The way she was sitting next to him, she was by far more relaxed around him than he was around her. But now, lost in her own musings, she reflected. 

“I suppose that is what happened. Seeing everyone. Being there. Seeing who _wasn’t_ there. I think it all just… caught me off guard.” He nodded, understanding. He’d felt a bit more _raw_ than usual upon seeing everyone. “But at night…” He could almost see her eyes shutter, blocking out the memories and fear. Yes. He knew what that was like too. His shoulders hunched a little at the thought. She seemed to notice the movement and glanced over at him. 

“Dreamless sleep has never… worked well for me.” He stated. “Over time, if you are able to retain some consciousness in dreams, you can... eventually wake yourself.” Eventually. Not exactly a solution. She set down her tea on the table, and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. He studied her from beneath his lashes. He knew that haunted, hunted shadow in her eyes. He was well acquainted. They were quiet for a long time. 

“Well,” she let out a long sigh, shaking herself and those dark thoughts. “I thought we might try something else. Call it an experiment.” She shifted, adjusting her weight and leaned towards him. His whole body stilled. Mouth dry, he could only watch, eyes never leaving hers, as she reached forward and took his now tepid tea from his hands, setting it on the low table. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, and he swallowed, fighting the urge to moisten his lips, fighting to keep his neutral mask in place. Her hand came to rest on his far collarbone, as she used it to hold herself steady, inching forward at a molasses pace, giving him every opportunity to rebuff or exit, if he so chose. He could once again hear the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the thrum of blood in his ears as together they cancelled out all external sound. The hand resting on his chest was warm. His face remained blank, but he knew his eyes might be revealing what roiled within. Hunger, like he’d never known, opened its maw within him and _the want_ became painful, a twisting blade in his chest. He clamped down with every ounce of self-control he possessed. _Wanting only ever left him wounded_. 

But she still leaned towards him, eyes locked with his, her lips drawing ever closer. She _did_ wet her lips and the pressure where her hand pushed against his chest increased as her weight shifted towards him. She did hesitate, though, an inch from his mouth, and he could tell her breathing was shallow, each inhale breathy. Her lips were slightly parted. She smelled _so_ good. 

But he didn’t move. He watched her, with her face a breath from his. He could see gold flecks in her eyes, the freckles spattered across her nose and cheeks, even as they were slightly out of focus for being so near. His breathing halted completely when she closed the distance and settled her lips on his. For a moment, though it could have been an eternity, they just stayed like that. Mouths gently pressed together. 

There was a throbbing in the lower part of his body, while his brain was taking notes on the softness, the firmness, the taste and feel of her lips against his. He heard her inhale slowly through her nose, he watched her finally close her eyes… 

Then, she deepened the kiss. Every thought scattered and his eyes closed automatically as he felt her warm breath in his mouth, her lips opening his, and felt her tongue sliding in. _Oh fucking gods_. For a moment longer, he remained frozen in the thrill of the moment, the electric current of it running the length of his body, all the way to his toes. The feel of it. But when his brain finally forced him to take a breath, inhaling deep her heady scent, his body began responding without consulting him. In a blink, his hands and arms came up to hold her, feel her, pull her closer, and then settle her across his lap. 

He had gone instantly hard at the first touch of her tongue on his, but the sensation of her soft bottom sitting on top of him had his erection straining uncomfortably against his clothes. Her fingers spread around his neck and into his hair, pressing and pulling him closer. She shifted her position, and as his hardness pushed into her she made a strangled sound and pulled closer to his chest. Her thin cotton yoga pants did nothing to inhibit him from feeling the softness of her flesh beneath them, and he groaned a low groan into her mouth. 

She continued to kiss him urgently, exploring his mouth with her tongue, teeth scraping, her bosom heaving against him. His hands held her lower back, kneading into her, moving up to her shoulder blades, down to the roundness of her bottom, then back up, making their way up beneath the light fabric of her loungewear shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but just a stretchy camisole with a built-in shelf and she moaned again as his hand came around and cupped her breast. Her nipples hardened as he brushed over them and his stomach somersaulted. She was so responsive in his arms and he hungrily devoured every sound, every inch that his mouth or fingers could reach, all of her so soft and firm all at once.

The fire flared in his groin and he ground himself against her. She threw back her head at the sensation, and he turned his attention to the graceful neck stretched before his mouth. After melting into his ministrations, she caught her breath and surged upward, lifting herself up and moving to a straddle position. He almost cried with the ecstasy of sensation as she settled her opening, separated only by those flimsy layers of clothing, directly over his shaft. He raised his hips into her and she made a small cry, pressing herself back down against him. _Gods she was so hot._ He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this, that his body had been on fire the way it was now -every nerve ending blazing like a blowtorch. 

His hands were everywhere now, roving unabashedly, touching her in ways he never would have imagined. He growled, his arousal driving all conscious thought from his mind. Finally losing the last vestiges of his control he flipped her, his body covering hers now lengthwise on the couch, her legs coming to wrap around his waist. She was making little noises again, panting and kissing him as his weight pushed into her at this new, more exposed angle. She began pulling at the buttons on his shirt, even though they were inaccessible with his chest pressed against hers, and then her fingers moved down and reached into the waistline of his pants and began tugging down. He groaned at the gesture, the desire to possess her, to fuck her shredding his mind. 

Without conscious thought, he wordlessly divested them of their clothing, and suddenly her smooth skin was hot against his, her breasts crushed against him, her legs curved around his hips with nothing between them. She did a sharp intake of breath but didn’t skip a beat, if anything, it made her motions and touches suddenly more ardent. His cock was hard against her opening, and he could feel her heat like a furnace emanating against him. Her pubic hair tickled, and he could feel the slickness there as she ground up, his tip separating the labia there, sliding up and down as she moved. 

There was some part of his brain, calling from a distance, raising questions at him, shouting that he should use caution or consider all angles or- he didn’t care. He closed off his mind and felt only her, hot and soft in his arms, in his mouth, and the tip of his cock throbbed as it touched her molten center. She bucked her hips again, and he took the hint, pushing himself into her wetness. Hot tightness squeezed him as he slid in deeper and deeper, pushing until it came to full stop. She had arched her back at his entry, and he could see she was holding her breath, head thrown back against the cushions, eyes fluttering with the sensation. They stilled all motion. Through heavy lids, her eyes opened and the two pairs locked as they remained there, motionless, just reveling in the fullness of the joining. _She felt so fucking good_. It was the only thought in his head, though it was more like a mantra on repeat. After what felt like forever, she leaned up towards his face, want blazing in her eyes and slowly licked her tongue slow across his lower lip. It was an unleashing. 

His body began to move with a fury, pounding into her, driving her deeper into the couch cushions with every stroke. She was crying out inarticulate words of encouragement and pleasure as he plunged into her, harder and harder, her hips coming up to meet him each time. He seemed to be pushing her up the couch from where they started, so he moved his hands to her shoulders to keep her from sliding away from him with each entry. The force also pulled her more deeply into each thrust. Somehow it felt like he was pouring into her all the rage, all the impotence, all the fear and isolation of the past years, giving it to her body with each rise and clash of their hips. And she was taking it all and raging back with her body, _fucking him_ with a violence that he would not have thought possible from the small witch. 

Like a thunderous storm they poured and raged and clashed until with one final cry they trembled and slowly, slowly began to subside: all the power leaching out as they came back into their limp bodies, still tangled and sweating, his face pressed into her neck, her hair stuck to his cheek. 

“Oh, shit I needed that. That was amazing. You’re a fucking god Severus.” She moaned, still panting heavily from the exertion. 

Severus had forgotten the entirety of language, so he just grunted in agreement and thanks. No one had ever called him a god before. He thought he might be in shock from what had just unfolded between them. 

He again lost track of time, and wasn’t sure how long they’d lain there, sweat drying from their bodies, prickling as it evaporated, his member still inside her, but neither one seemed to want to move. He heard her take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and finally he shifted, realizing his weight was probably making it uncomfortable to breathe. Her arms reflexively tightened around him, willing him to stay. So he did. She hummed in contentment. After another while they both stirred and sat up. Severus wasn’t sure what would come next; in fact he was so far out from familiar terrain he had no idea what to expect. Hermione grinned at him, and something about the way she looked at him, like he was just a man - _a regular man_ , it was so _normal_ -that he instinctively reached out and pulled her close against his chest, sighing as he did so. It might have been the most affectionate thing he’d ever done. 

After a second though, his brain had come back online: he began to feel all the questions bubbling up inside of him. _What now, how does this work, what did she want from him, could he give it, what would others think, what if she didn’t want him after all, what if he did something to ruin it?_ Sensing him tensing up beside her, she let out a deep breath and said in a nervous, hurried kind of way, 

“I think I need a shower... would you want to join me?” This was said with some confidence, even if rushed before she went on, “And maybe…” Here she hesitated. “Maybe stay the night?” 

His anxiety the moment before had brought back his unreadable face, but he let her invitation sink in. He supposed there would be time to worry later, or maybe he just wouldn’t care, maybe he would see what unfolded with this woman. He let his mask fall, allowing the answer to blaze in his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking. 

“Lead on Miss Granger.” He said, his voice silky. 

She scowled. “That’s Hermione, asshole.” 

He laughed. Actually laughed. “Tut tut, such language.” But this time she was smirking as she leaned up and once again traced her tongue along his lips, just barely sliding between them. He shuddered. 

“I think you should lead the way already, or we will never leave this room.” he said, teeth gritted. She just smiled and took his hand, both still completely naked, and she led him through another door to the living quarters beyond. 


	3. Scientific Method

Severus allowed himself to be led into her private quarters. Part of him was still in shock, the other part was floating, a cloud of disembodied bliss. How had this happened? He wondered again, feeling dazed. But here he was, following this lovely vision of a woman, watching her adjust the temperature of the shower’s spray and stepping in after her. He breathed deeply into the rising steam and ran his hands up over his face, pulling the water through his hair until it was fully immersed. Hermione, hair not yet dampened, was watching him, and suddenly he felt self-conscious. 

He raised his eyebrow in question. Her eyes held such warmth and she smiled, reaching out her hands and running her fingers along his scalp through his slick wet hair. “You just look different this way.” She murmured. “I can see your face…” at this she cupped her hands at his jaw on either side and seemed to study him. Her eyes roved from his forehead and eyebrows, to his nose, his cheekbones down to his lips and chin, then back up to his lips, finally settling on his eyes again. Her scrutiny was disorienting. He’d always assumed that people found him… maybe not ugly, but certainly not attractive. But her gaze...said something else. His stomach tightened in response. 

“I’ve always liked your eyes.” She said, and there was something slow burning in the words. He held in the ripple of shock at this declaration. That she would have at any point thought to consider his eyes at all. 

His eyes in turn flicked over her features. Words were usually his tools, his weapons, his particular _expertise,_ but her words left him at a complete loss. Before he could recollect himself to retort or respond, she leaned up again and pressed soft lips to his. It was tender and gentle, and after a time she pulled away and moved to push her head back fully into the water, lifting her face and sighing in contentment. 

Once again he felt at a loss. In all his years as a spy, his ability to suss out people’s intentions, their motives and desires and therefore predict their next move has come naturally to him. It allowed him to operate and interact with some distance. Like a chess master surveilling his board, he could understand and thereby maneuver, all while remaining profoundly detached. But Hermione… He felt more wrong footed and unsure than he could remember feeling in a long time. And she just kept _surprising_ him. He really couldn’t anticipate what she would do next. _It was exhilarating,_ he thought. _And terrifying._

 _This must be what most people experienced when interacting with others,_ he mused as he began to lather his hair with the shampoo he’d just wordlessly altered to resemble the scent he favored. _How do they manage?_ He wondered with horror. _Was it this unsettling all the time?_

Surprising him yet again, Hermione took some of her foaming wash and turning to him, began lathering up his chest. Her fingers were gentle yet insistent as she massaged the soapy suds into his chest, up over his shoulders, around to his back and down to his buttocks. When her hands came back around to the front and began to lather his sensitive bits, he inhaled sharply. She just smirked and continued to rub his member and his balls, lathering the dark pubic hair there gently until it was thick with white sud. He had to reach out a hand to support himself against the wall. His breath became uneven. The sensation was the most relaxing, and yet arousing sensation he’d ever known. Like a soothing orgasm. It was an act of care so intimate and sensual, yet truly innocent in its delivery. She wasn’t trying to arouse him. _It just felt so incredibly good._ He groaned aloud and closed his eyes as she continued. Eventually she finished her ministrations and slid up against his chest. Her breasts were slippery as they moved against him, her belly sliding against his, as she wrapped her arms around him, sudsy slick bodies pressed together. 

His mouth twitched and almost became a true smile. He had just ravished her, and they were in the shower together - one would assume that everything would play out all steamy and sensual, but this was almost... _silly_. It made him want to wriggle against her and feel their bodies slip against each other. Not a romantic gesture, but a ridiculous one. One that made him want to laugh. He looked down and saw that she was grinning too. She glanced down at her breasts pressed against him and moved back and forth, making a distinct slurping sound. His chest vibrated with suppressed laughter and her eyes met his, which held a mischievous sparkle shining with mirth. Maybe it was the soothing of the hot water, maybe it was the calm after sex, but he couldnt’ remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed, this… free. 

Naturally, the warning bells in his head sounded again, but this time he was able to damper them and shove them away for a bit. So far he hadn’t had to risk very much, she seemed to be content making the moves, so he would roll with it, and simply see where it led. Perhaps even rejection would be worth it in the end. So far, this whole experience had been satisfying and… liberating. 

With their humorous antics out of the way, they both set about final ablutions, rinsing off the soap scrubbing. He watched her perfect ass as she shampooed and conditioned her hair, at one point reaching around to cup the weight of her breast in his hand, then pulling her body back against his. He could feel arousal coming on again, and his member had begun to stiffen, even if not fully. Moving his hands up, he helped wash out each mixture from her hair. It crossed his mind to take her again, there against the shower wall… but maybe that was too much too soon? Too bold? As if reading his mind, she leaned forward, pushing back against his groin, leaning forward and placing her palms against the wall. His cock twitched as he watched her languidly stretching before him, her back arched, her beautiful rounded ass pressed against him. He growled as he ran his hands down her shoulder blades, around to cup her breast again and down to the dip of her waist and pulled her hips against him. 

“Gods woman, you are insatiable. After all I’ve survived, I can’t believe _you_ will be the death of me.” She turned and gave him a coy smile, moving her hips in a slow circle against him. He groaned again, definitely getting harder by the second. His hands roved again over her body, careful not to yet touch her where she was surely still sensitive from her most recent climax. The weight of her breasts in his hands felt sublime, the softness of her skin was like a tactile drug. He didn’t ever want to stop touching her. He trailed his index finger between the smooth cheeks pressed against him, rubbing over the nerves of her other entrance. She sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. She wriggled against him in retaliation. Brushing his fingertips over her apex in the gentlest of teasing, he watched her back arch further, the angling of her body a delight to watch. Holding those delicious cheeks in his hands, he pushed her away slightly, before reaching down to angle his member to her core again. He knew she’d be tender, and so he entered her with agonizing slowness, and he could see her ragged breathing as she accepted him into her body again. 

He could almost imagine tears springing to his eyes, if he were anyone else. It felt so good to push inside her, the feeling of her body taking him in, the warmth and softness pulling him home. It was a feeling he never wanted to end. He wondered if they could just stay here like this indefinitely, ignoring the world and all of its demands and drudgery? 

She made a small whimpering sound as he finally hit her limit, seated fully inside her. 

“Oh, Severus,” her words came out breathy, wrapped in a tone of awe and longing. He stilled. He had never heard anyone speak his name like that. He couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips. He had to be dreaming. Or there had to be some catch. He’d never felt anything this good in his whole life. He watched as he pulled mostly out, then pushed back in, mesmerized by the tight seal of her body around his cock and the feel of it squeezing him as he slid back in, achingly slow. He gently ran his thumb again up the crease of her buttocks, eliciting a slight jerk and another moan. He continued his slow torture, savoring every sound she made, every sensation. The perpendicular position of her body against his was providing the perfect angle of entry and he nudged her legs a little wider to deepen it further. In and out he moved, sometimes with an extra thrust at the end to hit her cervix, making her moan more loudly each time. He finally noticed her legs were trembling, and with another push and a brush against her sensitive nerves with his fingertips, he managed to finally put words together. 

“Let’s move this to the bedroom, Hermione. I don’t want you collapsing in the shower.” 

“If I did, it would be entirely your fault.” She quipped back. He just smirked. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, her hair still dripping wet, her skin beaded with spray from the shower. Her eyes seemed to sear into him, they were molten windows to her mind. The mind he’d admired from afar for so long. He gave one last push for good measure, watching her eyes close and mouth drop open in a stuttered exhale. Then he pulled out, turning to wash himself in the water falling behind him. She straightened slowly, her muscles clearly needing time to adjust after straining in that position for so long, and then throwing him another grin she stepped out of the shower. He took a deep breath, running his fingers around his iron-hard cock, before stepping out to follow her. Barely drying off, he followed her into the bedroom. There were some clothes tossed around, some books on the floor. Nothing too messy, but clearly not as OCD as his rooms. Though her mind might be fantastically organized, he figured this outward casualness was probably a healthy sign of a more balanced life. 

She turned to him as she approached the bed and pushed him against the edge of it. Dropping down, she looked up at him as her hands came to wrap around his member, and her lips parted. His heart had already started pounding. He wasn’t aware he could be _more_ turned on, but apparently having this beautiful naked woman, having _Hermione fucking Granger,_ kneeling before him and maintaining eye contact as she took his cock into her little mouth was on the next level. He was sure he couldn't’ breathe. All he could do was watch- _and not breathe_ . Slowly he watched her take him deeper into her mouth, watched himself disappear between her lips, her eyes never leaving his face. His eyes almost rolled back into his head as he felt her tongue swirling against him and her hand came up to cup his balls, gently moving and rolling them in her palm, but he refused to break eye contact as long as she looked at him _like that._ He almost choked as she took him deeper in her throat and he vaguely wondered if internal combustion were indeed possible. Perhaps he’d be the first to experience it. 

Finally, unable to take any more, he hauled her to her feet and practically threw her on the bed. She laughed delightedly. Gripping her hips, he dragged her to the edge of the bed, aligned himself and thrust deep. Her laughter turned into a gasping cry as he hit bottom. Moving his hands from her hips, he pulled her legs up, bending them and parting them wider as he pulled out and plunged back in. She balanced her legs in the air as he pulled her closer to him again, his fingers closing on her hip bones to pin her in place as he rocked back and pushed hard and deep again and again into her. Her cries were punctuated by his name and ‘oh gods,’ everytime he pounded into her soft center. He watched her writhing on the bed, bunching sheets in her fists, turning her head from side to side, a wild creature thrashing before him. He _loved_ seeing her like this. He had never seen anything so captivating. Somehow, beyond anything within his comprehension, she _wanted_ him. She was twisting and crying in pleasure _because_ of him. 

He sped up, and he could feel that his release was not too far away. He was so _godsdamned_ turned on. She was still writhing, but now she reached down with her hand and her fingers began teasing and rubbing over the swollen bundle of nerves of her sex. She moaned louder, and he devoured the sight of her touching herself, directly above here where he watched himself driving into her. Her fingers moved faster and her incoherent vocalizing became louder. He could feel the muscles inside her contract around him as her climax built within her. With one last movement of her fingers she cried out and her whole body stiffened, even as he continued to pound into her. The orgasm gripped him from inside her and the feel of it wrapping around him and tightening with the strength of her pleasure was the final sensation that pulled him over the edge as well. 

His vision had gone black, but he’d managed to stay standing. His body felt boneless, and even though he figured he should lie down, he still held her hips, every so often gently thrusting again as the tingling sensations of the orgasm still lingered for both. She shivered as he gently moved in her one last time before pulling out. He felt bereft standing there, until her hand reached out, fingers closing around his arm as she pulled him to her. She shifted, so she could finally relax her trembling legs as she spread out on the bed, and he too lay down, drawing himself closely around her, pulling her back against his chest and holding her there. He felt their heartbeats slowly steadying, their heavy breathing calming, their sweaty bodies starting to cool and tingle as the moisture evaporated on their skin. 

Hermione sighed deeply in his arms, and where once he might have been worried what was contained within that sigh, he could now distinguish the note of contentment in it. She nestled more snugly against him and he smoothed her hair away from her face. She made some happy incoherent noises and he smirked to himself, his heart swelling. The thought of how this would probably destroy him if it turned out badly flitted through his mind, but he didn’t really have the energy to consider it, and so it flitted away, leaving him with the novel sensation of simply being happy. 

When morning found them, Severus slowly wakened to the growing light in the room. Hermione muttered indistinctly before nuzzling back into Severus' chest. The events of the night slowly drifted back into his consciousness and he smiled to himself against her curls. He didn't know when he'd last slept that well. 

"You know," he mused aloud, his voice deeper and a bit rougher than usual, "If we want to prove the endeavors of last night's efficacy against nightmares, we will have to be much more methodical in our research. Anecdotal results are not results at all." Hermione shifted so their eyes finally met, that amber gold dazzling in the morning light. Her lips quirked and she replied with the utmost sincerity. 

"I couldn't agree more. And I would expect nothing less from a Potions Master. Scientific method it is. But I warn you, this could take a long time to determine." His lips twitched in return. 

"Very well, I'm agreeable to those terms." He said, before leaning down and settling his lips over hers. 

  
  



End file.
